


A Line in the Sand

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Culture Shock, Diplomacy, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Revenge, Unresolved Sexual Tension, hurt/comfort elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 10:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17959181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: “And what about you, my lady? Is vengeance what your heart craves too?”"Yes. No. I'm not sure.Catelyn and Oberyn meet to form an alliance, but form something other than that.





	A Line in the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> For day 6 of ASOIAF Rarepair Week, the prompt: Dorne/Beyond the Wall.

Dorne really is a swelteringly hot place, far more than she ever could have imagined, and Catelyn's hair looks near-black as it sticks to her skin with sweat. She sighs and wraps her pink silk sheath tighter around herself. She had to accept the clothes the Prince offered her courteously, for practical reasons – she would have melted otherwise – but she does keep worrying half the castle will see her nipples through them. Then again, she doubts they would be particularly surprised. Dorne does not seem to be a place where anyone worries very much about such things, which is perhaps for the best, but makes Catelyn feel even more out of place than she expected to.

She always thought she felt foreign in the North, but she had no idea.

“You look pink,” is the first thing Prince Oberyn says when he enters the room, without bothering with formalities. It throws Catelyn for a loop. “I brought you an ointment,” he says, and passes her a small jar of white paste. “From the mines up in the Red Mountains. I don't want you to return home to tell your son we burnt your fair skin with our sun.”

“...Thank you.” Catelyn is not entirely sure how to respond, but with a man who has given her such flimsy clothing and now a paste he wants her to rub into her skin, she ought to be careful. “Your grace.”

He quirks a smile at her hesitation. He is handsome, there's no denying that, tall and lean with his dark eyes and widow's peak – the very image of a Dornishman, for better or for worse. “Relax, my lady, I won't insist on rubbing it on you myself.” His smirk widens. “Unless you would like me to, of course.”

Cat flushes, not from the heat. “No. No thank you,” she murmurs, remembering too late that she is lady of the realm, not some blushing milkmaid. That only leaves her more embarrassed.

She supposes as the daughter of great lord and the wife of another, she has never had to deal with men being as forward with her as they would with a milkmaid. But she is a lady, while Oberyn is a prince – that does not mean very much anymore, but perhaps it means enough.

He lowers his head diplomatically. “Forgive me, I have overstepped my bounds,” he says. Catelyn blinks in surprise. Well, she didn't expect _that_ from him. He walks around and takes a place behind the maghony table, looking much more a prince from afar. “You didn't come to be seduced. You came to talk about your son, yes?”

Catelyn is much relieved to have any thought of his seducing her put firmly aside. “Yes,” she says, steeling her spine. “He seeks an alliance against the Lannisters.”

“Lord Stark seeks an alliance against the Lannisters...” Oberyn says, an edge of darkness growing in his eyes. _King Robb,_ Catelyn is tempted to correct him, but she knows it would not be well met – and they have not made it that far yet. She bites her tongue. “Last time I remember, Lord Stark fought alongside the Lannisters,” he continues. “Your husband sided with the people who butchered my sister and her children.”

She swallows deeply. She knew this would happen, she tried to talk Robb out of sending her – but he would not listen. Technically, the Lannisters entered the war so late the Stark men never really fought alongside theirs, but she knows she will not persuade him by being petty.

“Ned loathed what happened to your sister, my prince. He never forgave himself for it, and he never forgave the Lannisters. He would have taken Lord Tywin's head himself if he could have.” _Perhaps if he did he would still be alive,_ she thinks with a stab of pain.

From the look in Oberyn's eye, she thinks he believes her. Which is good, because it's true. “But still,” he says. “Why should we ally with your son?”

And now it is up to Catelyn to remember, to repeat the words Robb told her when he explained her mission. “Because we want the same things you do,” she says. “Freedom, from the crown and its meddling. The right to govern ourselves. And...”

“...Vengeance.” Prince Oberyn looks sad. “Is that what you've come to offer me? Is that what you think I want?”

Catelyn blinks in surprise. “...Well, yes,” she says. “All of Dorne burns for vengeance, you most of all. Or so I heard. Was I wrong?”

“No,” Prince Oberyn tells her. “I want vengeance more than anything. It is what I live for. It keeps me up at night. I want to see everyone who had any hand in her death suffer before they perish, just like she did.” He pauses. “I presume your son wants something similar for his father,” he says, and Catelyn nods. Yes, Robb must, why else would they be doing this? “And what about you, my lady?” he asks. “Is vengeance what your heart craves too?”

Catelyn is startled. No-one, not even her own son, has so far acted like her opinion on this is very important. “Yes,” she says immediately. “No,” she corrects herself. Oberyn looks confused. “I-I'm not sure.”

Oberyn says nothing, just waits for her to continue, and Catelyn sighs. “ _Yes_ I want vengeance. Of course I do. The Lannisters murdered my husband, crippled my son, kidnapped my daughters...” she trails off. Many a night she has dreamed of storming into King's Landing, sword in hand, wrapping Arya and Sansa beneath her arms as she watches the blood run down the walls. Sometimes, when it's late at night and she misses Ned so much it feels like they cut her heart out, the violence of her thoughts frightens her.

“I want vengeance, but I'm not sure what good it would do,” she explains. “What, should we just keep tearing the realm apart every time someone dies, like we did fifteen years ago? How many more versions of my husband, or your sister, will we make? How many more wars will we give our children?” Unbidded, tears spring to her eyes. “I want to kill the people who murdered my husband, but I also want _peace_. So who knows what I fucking want?”

The curse springs from her lips, not like any lady and certainly not like her. But Prince Oberyn does not seem offended. He smiles at her, sadly. “You remind me of my consort,” he declares. “She is always telling that I must let go, that seeking revenge will only ruin me and get me killed, that I should be happy with what I have – her, and my daughters.” He chuckles. “She's right of course. But I cannot. Vengeance is in my blood. She is a better person than I will ever be, I'm afraid.”

Catelyn isn't sure how to take that. Most women would be offended to be compared to a Dornish paramour, but from the way Oberyn speaks of this woman, it's clear he thinks the world of her. Catelyn can't help but think she is very lucky. Hurriedly, she wipes her eyes. “I hope you're not saying that just to try and seduce me again.”

“Ah, so you did come to be seduced!”

Despite herself, she can't help but laugh. She hasn't laughed, really laughed in a long while – since Ned died, and it feels good. She feels guilty for how good it feels.

Slowly, Prince Oberyn makes his way back over to her. “I have no wish to pressure you into anything,” he says. “I could never enjoy lying with a woman I thought wanted to refuse me. But if you did want to, I would be willing.” He says it so simply, so kindly, she can't even think to be offended. “You must be lonely, and grieving, and if you simply wanted to feel pleasure long enough to distract you – well, I can provide.” With that cocky smirk, she's sure he means what he says.

She finds herself being honest, too honest. “Part of me wants to,” she says. She's ashamed of herself for it, with all her septa told her about sex being for the marriage bed and nowhere else, at least for a lady like her, but she wants to feel alive again – if Prince Oberyn and his famous cock could make her do so, well. “And part of me wants to make a run for it, find my children and flee for the Wall, stake out a living among the Wildlings.” They'd all freeze, starve and die, she knows, but she would die on her own terms. “I cannot do either.”

Oberyn tilts his head to the side. “If you're afraid of what those northerners would think of you, I promise, I can be very discreet,” he assures her.

“It's not that,” she says. “It's that...” and she thinks of Ned, his long face and cool grey eyes. Her heart aches again. “...I am not ready yet.”

And Oberyn – he nods.

“I understand, my lady.” Then he bends down, and – chastely, chivalrously – takes her hand, kisses it. “I am so sorry about your husband.”

She meets his dark eyes over her knuckles, and bites her lip. The thing is, this foreign man really does understand.

 


End file.
